


How To Be a Beast

by DoreyG



Category: Vampire Babylon - Chris Marie Green
Genre: (And by kind of I mean IS), Animal Play, Claudius briefly changes gender, Community: kink_bingo, Costin is kind of a jerk in this, M/M, Pre-Canon, Rough!Sex, Vampires being vampires, references to blood, table!sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 16:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re not human anymore.”</p>
<p>“Wow, Costin,” Claudius purrs without looking up from his nails, “I <i>never</i> would’ve guessed that, what on earth would we do without your razor sharp insights?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Be a Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Animal Play square of my Kink_Bingo. Inspired by the fact that Claudius can turn into a cat in canon.
> 
> ...And I should also say, for reference, that if Costin had remained a vampire in canon my headcanon says that he would've been able to turn into a lion. Yeah.

“We’re not human anymore.”

“Wow, Costin,” Claudius purrs without looking up from his nails, “I _never_ would’ve guessed that, what on earth would we do without your razor sharp insights?”

…The only possible response to that, as ever, is a _glare_.

“And doesn’t that worry you a tiny bit?” And to continue, because this is _important_ and one day Claudius might actually look up (you never know, miracles have happened before), “That we’re… Beasts now, creatures of the night, addicted to bloody slaughter?”

“I always suspected that you’d missed the ‘how to be a soldier’ orientation talk,” just a pity that today is most emphatically _not_ that day, “we’ve always been beasts, Costin, _always_ been addicted to bloody slaughter – you don’t survive on a battlefield by throwing flowers at your enemies and singing songs of peace and love.”

…He _still_ keeps trying, _just_ in case, “but creatures of the night-?”

“I can’t speak for myself here, Costin, but you were already _that_ too” …He shouldn’t have kept trying, there’s now a faint smirk upon Claudius’ face, “or are you going to deny the whoring _again_?”

“I-!”

“I’m not _Benedikte_ , you know, I’m not going to _judge_ you just because I believe in my ability to actually seduce women with my good looks and charm.”

“Your wife was a whore,” he growls sullenly, and resolves to _ignore_ that smirk as best he can (for that way lies insanity, and childishness, and Benedikte trying desperately to hide giggles while looking disapproving) “…And that’s not even the _point_ , Claudius-!”

“And I seduced her to marriage with my good looks and charm,” a pity that it isn’t _going away_ like a polite thing, is instead _growing_ into something pointed and sharp and completely unfair, “but what _is_ the point, Costin?”

“That we’re not human anymore-“

“Ah, _that_ again.”

“-And that we’ll never be human again,” still, he is _ignoring_ it and he is drawing in a _sharp_ breath and he is sticking to his _entirely_ solemn point with a determination that does him credit! “And that those two things _should_ worry you at least a little.”

There’s a brief pause.

He starts to get proud of his ignoring, _thrilled_ by it. It’s the best ignoring he’s done by _far_ \- usually he’s throwing a temper tantrum by now, or storming off to complain at Benedikte, or trying valiantly to strangle Claudius before his stupid friend Mihas shows up and parts them with a laugh, or-!

…It gets a lot harder to ignore when Claudius actually spares a glance on him, eyebrows rising in an _amused_ way, “a little?”

“Or a lot,” ugh, it’s all he can do to hiss _calmly_ through gritted teeth, “yes.”

It just encourages Claudius’ eyebrows higher, unfortunately. His smirk wider, his voice _happier_ until it’s practically hovering on the edge of _gleeful_ , “what a point. Why?”

“…Why what?”

“ _Why_ ,” and encourages him to _laugh_ , too. Chuckle in that specific way apparently _designed_ to raise the hackles on the back of his neck and make him want to punch things, “should I be worried just a little, or a lot, about not being human anymore?”

“Or-“

“Or ever again,” just as that _specific_ roll of his eyes is apparently designed to make him feel stupid, Claudius has designed far too many things with him in mind, “yes, Costin, I _have_ been listening to your mad ramblings.”

“…You haven’t,” he can only grumble sullenly, for fear of Claudius giving him that special little tilt of his head that often has him screaming rough obscenities at the sky, “I _told_ you-“

“And _I_ refuted _you_ , if you can remember that in the middle of your sudden moral crisis,” the tilt is, luckily, avoided – but the smirk just grows wider and that’s almost _worse_ , really, “we’re exactly the same as we were before, Costin. I am still Claudius, you are still the obnoxious little hypocrite that flirts with every willing woman but looks like a prune every time a comrade dares to grab a tiny bit of pleasure. In fact, if anything, I’d say that we’re actually… _Better_ now.”

…He stares for a long, slightly appalled moment.

He’ll even let the _prune_ comment slide, after that, “ _Better_? Claudius, do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Always,” Claudius only purrs, “you haven’t thought about this properly, have you? We’re _stronger_ now, Costin. We can heal, we can hunt, we can _defend_ our country from the infidels, we’ll live _forever_ and be able to change the world to our liking.”

…He really hopes that he looks more than _slightly_ appalled, “but we’re _beasts_ -!”

“You’ve already said that.”

“ _Monsters_ ,” because he feels more than slightly appalled, he feels _entirely_ appalled – sick and shaky in a way that makes him want to throw up and run away and pinch his arm until he’s entirely _him_ again, “we aren’t meant to heal, we aren’t meant to hunt, we aren’t meant to beat our enemies _this_ way and we certainly aren’t meant to live forever!”

…Claudius only rolls his eyes again.

“We _can’t_ -“

“We most certainly can,” and laughs at him again, swinging a casual leg over the arm of his chair and looking like he’s never been so relaxed in his entire life, “In fact I dare say that we’ll most certainly have to, and I have no intention of feeling horrifically guilty over something that I can’t change.”

He draws in a sharp breath, it’s the only thing he really _can_ do.

“Something that I actually feel rather pleased about, as you’ll hopefully remember.”

“Why?” It’s his turn to ask savagely, slowly balling his hands into _controlled_ fists, “you’ve always been too sensible to put yourself in situations where you’ll need healing so it’s not that, you’ve never been much of a hunter so it’s not _that_ , I know for a fact that you believe our enemies are infidels about as much as you believe you horse is capable of flight so it’s most _definitely_ not that, and as for the living forever-!”

“It might be that,” Claudius offers amiably, still smirking, “you know my fondness for history, Costin, to live through it sounds practically _divine_.”

…He’s really starting (well, sort of – he’s loathed that thing ever since their first meeting) to _hate_ that smirk, “and that’s the only reason why you’re happy to become a monster, then?”

“Perhaps,” a pity that it’s not, will _never_ be, going away, “problem?”

“A desire to live through history is not reason enough to gleefully abandon your humanity, Claudius-!”

“I did say perhaps, Costin,” never _ever_ \- judgement day will come, probably in the near future after all _this_ , and that smirk will be the very last thing he sees, “there are other… _Perks_. Little things that make life so much more _interesting_ than it was before.”

“…Little perks are also not a reason to-“

“You haven’t actually _seen_ the perks, Costin.”

“That doesn’t change the fact-!”

…It does change Claudius, though.

So swiftly that he’s left blinking at it. Suddenly in his familiar, far _too_ familiar, bastard’s place stands a woman – her dark hair free around her shoulders, her bright eyes glinting through the dark of the tent, the soft swell of her breasts filling out her shirt in a most tempting way.

“Oh,” he says numbly, watching this beauty (well, Claudius is always a beauty but it’s much easier to _deny_ it when he’s male and across the tent and being obnoxious) with probably bulging eyes, “Benedikte can do that too.”

The beauty, _Claudius_ , raises an oddly familiar eyebrow, “turn into a woman?”

“Change shape,” his mouth is dry, it’s quite inconvenient. He has to lick his lips several times before he actually manages to summon words “…Have you always wanted to be a woman?”

“Not really, but…” It’s the first time he’s ever seen Claudius hesitate over anything, even his features seem to morph as if they’re not quite sure, “it’s a perk, trust me.”

He can only look faintly confused.

…As Claudius shifts back, and carefully rubs his palms along his trousers as if he’s revealed rather too much of himself and is trying to carefully slot everything back into place.

He can be merciful as well as confused, at least, “is that the only perk?”

“It’s a _big_ perk,” even if Claudius still isn’t looking directly at him, has actually let that smirk fade a little until he looks small and uncertain and entirely unlike himself.

_Merciful_ , as best he can, “yes, but it’s still not reason _enough_ to become a monster.”

And Claudius…

Claudius _laughs_ at him, in a way that sounds faintly relieved. Finally looks at him again with that old smirk back in place and a certain _twinkle_ in his eyes, “did I, at any point, say that it was actually the _only_ perk, Costin? Honestly: you’re so impatient, so _rude_ …”

He glares, tries not to look too relieved.

“ _Tch_ ,” And Claudius _leaps_ at him for it.

… _What_?

He watches, completely stunned and _completely_ justified in being so, as Claudius’ body stretches out halfway through the jump. He gets smaller, fur ripples out across his skin, his smirk turns needled and then invisible as his bones shift and his body reshapes and he eventually ends up…

Landing neatly right in front of him.

As a _cat_.

“Oh God,” he says, still a touch shaky from the woman and the mercy and the _actually wanting to be nice to Claudius_ , “please don’t mate with your wife’s cat, that’d be _so_ awkward.”

…It’s amazing how cats can glare.

Amazing how _Claudius_ can glare, rising up out of the cat with a disturbing creak of bones and alarmingly long stretch, “I am not using _this_ particular perk to engage in a spot of bestiality, Costin, there’s no need to start angsting over that.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“You _were_.”

“Was not!”

Claudius simply raises his eyebrow in lieu of getting into a childish sniping match, it suits him surprisingly well.

…As does the fact that he’s naked.

Ah.

And apparently uncaring about that fact.

_Ah_.

“I don’t see how the ability to turn into a cat is a perk, anyway,” he continues stubbornly, trying not to look down at Claudius’ bony chest and toned stomach and… _lower regions_ , “why would you want to become even more of a-“

“Come now, Costin, what have cats ever done to you?”

“- _Beast_ , not a monster,” _grumbles_ stubbornly too, jerks his gaze up from the trail of hair leading down Claudius’ stomach to catch the slightly confused narrow of his eyes, “it makes no sense. Wouldn’t you rather be a human?”

“Says a man who obviously has a _slug_ as his higher form,” he still yawns, though, still tilts his head _right_ back and exposes his distractingly pale throat, “am I right?”

…He remains silent.

Not staring at that throat _at all_.

“…Unless you haven’t even _tried_ to change yet?” And not _wincing_ at all, either – not shifting awkwardly and looking away and turning a shade of bright scarlet that has probably been named as the most humiliating colour on earth, “ah, and I’m righter _there_. You really _do_ hate this new life, don’t you, Costin?”

“Shut up,” he hisses foully, resists the urge to raise a hand to his _not at all_ burning cheeks.

“I’m not sure why.”

“Shut _up_.”

“I mean, in my opinion-“

“Everything is rainbows and flowers and bunnies and _perfection_ ,” he _glares_ , crosses his arms across his chest – between him and the smirking (still naked) Claudius like some wonderfully thick shield, “yes, you’ve _said_. But some of us value better things than living forever or being able to change into a woman or being able to change into a _cat_.”

…It doesn’t stop that smirk, though, “because some of us are boring?”

He _growls_ , uncrosses his arms sharply, reaches out to deal Claudius a sharp _slap_ and teach him not to insult so obviously-

Realizes that Claudius is naked, and barely stops his hand from impacting with a bare thigh.

…Claudius’ eyes have narrowed again, it’s pretty much the opposite of helpful, “extremely boring, incredibly boring, so _very_ boring that even our esteemed leader finds it downright offensive at times.”

He draws in a shaky breath.

Moves his hand back, _jerkily_. Fists it in the air for a second before simply dropping it to his lap and helplessly hanging his head.

“And also hypocritical,” he can still feel Claudius’ eyes hot on his forehead, burning like they’re trying to fry his brains to mush, “and also… _Repressed_ , as most who protest too much are.”

“I-“ he starts unsteadily, has to clear his throat before he chokes on air, “I don’t know what you _mean_ -“

“You _want_ to be a monster.”

There’s a long pause.

His head shoots _right_ up, his hands fist again, he stares at Claudius’ again-smirking face right in front of him and remembers _exactly_ why he wanted to sink his fists firmly into it, “fuck you!”

“You do, though,” Claudius says, with an _unseemly_ amount of delight.

“Do not, fuck _off_!”

“Have you never heard of that highly famous saying: the lady doth protest too much?” Claudius simply cackles, rocks closer with that expression of glee still unfairly _there_ , “you _want_ this, Costin. Deep down, and not too deep either, you _want_ to give in to your basest desires.”

He-

He shoots to his feet with his balled fists, spins for the door and prepares to _stride_ away because he does not need this and it is not true and he wants this about as much as he wants bloody _Claudius_ and- _And_ -!

And Claudius shoots up too.

Grabs his arm with a new surge of strength and spins him around, reels him in with a mocking grin and _actual_ tilt of his damned head, “you could give in, you know.”

“Fuck,” he repeats weakly, and isn’t quite sure how to finish.

“Nobody would _judge_ you. We’d all simply _encourage_ you – applaud you, even, ‘bless the lord for Costin is no longer a filthy hypocrite!’” Claudius only keeps laughing, _cackling_ \- moving closer and closer until they’re practically pressed together, rough cloth against naked skin, “so why shouldn’t you?”

“ _Fuck_ -“

“Why _shouldn’t_ you discover what your higher form is?” And tilting his head, and flashing his teeth and digging in his sudden claws and generally being the _least helpful thing in the universe_ , “what your powers are? What specific _perks_ your particular existence affords you? Why not give into the beastly monster inside, Costin?”

“ _Fuck_ -!”

“It’s so…” And Claudius leans in, drags those needled teeth over his lower lip and _smiles_ , “ _sweet_.”

…The world freezes for a long moment.

He allows his eyes to meet Claudius’. Sees them glitter, sees them _flash_ , sees them challenge in a way that he’s never been able to resist before.

And…

“I don’t want this,” he says roughly, and _Crushes_ his mouth down on Claudius’ the very next moment.

He’s kissed people before, of course, _many_ times before as Claudius never fails to point out and Benedikte never fails to tut over – but this somehow manages to be both the best and the bloodiest of the lot. They bite at each others’ lips, claw at each others’ arms – he tugs Claudius against him so hard that he’s _sure_ there’ll be bruises on the morrow.

“Are-?” Claudius starts the moment they part, chuckling scratchily into the space between their mouths.

And he simply _can’t_ let the man, _beast_ , finish.

Claudius has always been the lightest, the boniest and the frailest looking, out of all of them and so it’s easy enough to lift him up onto the table. Press him along it with the weight of his body and a few stinging bites on his collarbone. Claudius goes with a _purr_ , claws coming up to scratch along his neck in a way that soon draws _blood_.

He ignores it, bites at the collarbone until he breaks the skin and then swoops back up to claim Claudius’ mouth again – pressing him down harder, _harder_ , until the soft purrs turn into plaintive _yowls_ and hard shoves against his shoulders.

The hint is easy enough to take, he rocks back at a sudden _hiss_ and rips his doublet neatly off his chest. Soon follows it with his shirt and has his trousers nearly undone by the time he _has_ to dive back in and nuzzle a possessive line right up to Claudius’ ear.

The man retaliates by sinking those needled teeth into his shoulder, dragging those sharp claws bloodily up his back, bucking up against him so hard that he practically sees stars.

” _Fuck_ ,” he rumbles, in a way that he never has before but kind of wants to again.

Claudius lets out a plaintive _mewl_ and arches his hips.

He wants nothing between them, just as the _beasts_ have nothing between them, and so he gives Claudius’ ear one final nip and pushes up again. His trousers are, he notices even in his highly frenzied state, already mostly undone. Easy enough to pull down over his thighs, rip over his shins and discard neatly with his shoes. Easy enough to _entirely_ forget about as he returns to Claudius with his shining skin and catlike eyes.

He brushes a line of kisses just under the man’s jaw, swears that he feels _fur_ briefly ripple there.

Doesn’t waste time appreciating it, though. For he _does_ know how this goes and he really wants it to be going in that direction an awful lot quicker. He draws back, digs his clawed and faintly padded hands into Claudius’ thigh – draws it up over his hip and _grinds_ into the space happily created.

And Claudius’ head falls back against the table, and he _purrs_ a breath hotly through his teeth.

And he’d chase that breath, he _would_ , but he’s far too busy pulling Claudius’ other thigh up and revelling in the sensation it creates. For okay, _maybe_ he’s dreamed of this far too many times when thrusting into an ordinary moaning human – and _maybe_ this is far better than all those dreamings combined.

He rumbles again, softly. Knows that Claudius can feel it all the way through him by the way he jerks.

They settle into a rhythm. Far faster than he’s ever gone before and, he’d bet, far faster than _Claudius_ has either. The man’s back scrapes roughly along the table, his head bangs back against the wood with every grind and his claws scrabble slickly for purchase over his shoulders.

And he’s meowing. Little, involuntary rumbles that make his back arch and his hips move faster.

His own claws are digging into Claudius’ thighs just as hard but it’s not enough, not _enough_. Their thrusts are shaking the table beneath them, they almost seem in danger of tumbling off the edge of it, but he doesn’t _care_ \- he still leans forwards, starts biting at Claudius’ panting lips with every hard roll of his hips.

Growling into them too, in a way that he _hopes_ conveys his deep desire to claim and own and _take_ for the rest of their very long lives. 

Not that Claudius seems to mind that, with his eyes gone bright yellow and his whole body starting to shake and his tight thighs drawing him ever closer, _closer_. So close that they’re pressed together for practically every thrust, legs brushing and chests bumping and blood dripping between their mouths so sweetly that he never ever wants it to stop.

But it has to stop eventually, as every bit of Claudius _clenches_ and he lets out a yowl so loud that it’s a miracle that every soldier in the camp doesn’t come sprinting in to catch them in the act.

And every part of him grows tight, every _thing_ narrows down to one single point, his own body starts shaking, his world starts to go brilliant white at the edges as Claudius keeps yowling underneath him, yowling and writhing and rippling fur and actually _unable_ to stay in one form-

He _roars_.

And comes, in one sweet (astounding, _glorious_ ) rush that leaves him boneless and slumping and curled so tightly around his beastly Claudius that they might as well be one.

_One_.

(And he wouldn’t mind that, for that was the hardest orgasm that he’s ever had and he would happily revel in it for eternity.)

…One.

(And he _wouldn’t_ -

He wouldn’t…)

He shoots back off Claudius with a strangled moan, allows his tawny fur (no) to shoot back into his skin and his claws ( _no_ ) to recede back into his fingers and his teeth (nonono _no_ ) to go back to normal. It’s a quick fall off the table but a necessary one, his trousers are just an arms-length away and it’s easy enough to grab them off the ground. He feels sick, _sick_ , but he knows that if he just gets out of here and throws up outside and _leaves_ -

(He _would_.)

“Costin?”

(He-!)

…Claudius’ voice is the only thing that stops him: nervous and angry, concerned and _hurt_. The man propping himself slowly up on his elbows, peering over the edge of the table with still amber eyes.

They stare at each other for a long moment.

He halts completely. Drops his trousers, reaches out with an open mouth and an excuse (apology, confession) waiting…

“Just once,” Claudius whispers half to himself, leaning back and ducking his chin to his bare chest, “I’d like somebody to look at me with something other than disgust after sex, just _once_.”

“…Claudius-“

“Fuck off,” the man echoes miserably, and rasps a _painful_ laugh.

He puts on his trousers in silence, gathers the rest of his rags and wraps them around his shoulders before he slips out of the tent and runs to spew bile somewhere hidden from the stark moonlight.

They’re-

… _He’s_ not human anymore, after all.


End file.
